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“Keigo called us cousins today.”
Ichigo reclined further against Ishida’s back, forcing him to take Ichigo’s weight without issue. Their view of the sunset from atop the middle of the office high-rise they sat upon was breathtaking. The sky painted a vibrant display of pink and orange hues that cast a glow upon their profiles. Being back-to-back allowed them to soak in each other’s heat as the wind at this height dramatically rustled their hair and clothing. The tails of Ichigo’s shihakushō billowed in contrast to the small ripples through the tighter fit of Ishida’s plain shirt and trousers. They often chose to be alone together after the Quincy Blood War. The intensity with which they had latched onto one another after all that had transpired wasn’t possible for their friends to understand.
“Did you tell him he's an idiot?” Ishida sneered, nudging the crown of Ichigo’s head with his own.
“Of course I did! He won't listen, though. As soon as he overheard that my mom got taken in by your family, he ran with it to piss me off.”
“Technically, if Yhwach labeled all the Quincy his children, Keigo could call us brothers.”
“What the fuck, Uryuu?! Don't make it worse!” Ichigo reached slightly behind him to grip Ishida’s hand where it rested on the rooftop. “The way I feel about you is definitely not familial.”
Ishida smirked, teasing, “What you do to me isn't familial either.”
“We gotta drop this topic, or else my ability to get boners around you will suffer.”
“I doubt anything could kill your ‘boners’. What are you, twelve?” Ishida shifted his head to the side so it could lie over Ichigo’s shoulder. Ichigo turned to place a fierce kiss on his temple.
“Want you,” Ichigo sighed.
“See?” Ishida mocked, though a bolt of arousal went through him. “You just had me this morning. Quite zealously, I might add.”
An excited breath panted over Ishida’s forehead as Ichigo remembered. “So what? I always want you. You're a walking wet dream.”
“Romantic,” Ishida sarcastically grumbled, as if he didn't think Ichigo was sex on legs as well. Still, the sentiment could be phrased in a more flattering way.
“I do think it's romantic, actually. Let me make love to you,” Ichigo pleaded into Ishida’s ear, making him shiver.
At least some propriety won out. “Where? Up here?? No!” Ishida sat up straight, leaning forward and away from the tempting words. It only gave Ichigo the chance to swivel and wrap around him from behind.
“Need you, Uryuu,” he purred once again in Ishida’s ear. “No one will see us. It's the tallest building in Karakura.”
Thirty-odd stories up didn’t seem that far away from discovery when several others in town could easily walk on air. Ishida tried; he really tried to resist and be the reasonable one here. The problem was that Ichigo knew his weaknesses well. Especially considering the biggest weakness was Ichigo himself. The sultry, airy voice was accompanied by Ichigo’s surprisingly tepid spirit body pressing along his spine, and the shihakushō’s thin undergarments did nothing to hide the considerable bulge poking at him.
“I know you need me too,” Ichigo continued. “You’d warm my cock day and night if it wouldn't interfere with you getting into university.”
“Don’t say things like—like that. It’s so…”
“Accurate?” Ichigo tried, chuckling.
“Vulgar!” Ishida sneered, his cheeks heating. “Leave university out of it.”
Ichigo laughed harder. “I don’t hear you denying what I said. Can’t even have a movie night in without you demanding to hop on it and sit there throughout. You don’t feel right unless you’re stuffed full of me, huh, Uryuu?” He cupped Ishida’s swelling erection and subtly rolled his hips against the small of the man’s back. “Let me give you what you need.”
A thick haze of lust threatened to strangle the life out of Ishida’s remaining sense of propriety. He had the urge to push Ichigo down and bounce on his monster cock until sunrise. Ichigo would stare in awe whenever he did that—just took what he wanted. Wind swept long bangs off Ishida’s face, making him focus and remember where they were. He wasn’t keen on getting taken out in the open, high above their town. They’d both be safe, and he supposed the others knew by now to steer clear when their reiatsu were paired off, but there was an element of exposure to it that made his instincts reject the idea. He's sure it must have been a lesson in a chapter of health class: don't let yourself get plowed on a roof. As long as Ichigo didn't have those same instincts, however, Ishida wasn’t opposed to having a little fun.
“Lie down for me,” Ishida whispered, holding the hand Ichigo cupped him with and brushing over the knuckles. Ichigo moaned, his hips stuttering for friction, before his spirit’s heat fell away from Ishida.
When Ishida turned around to look, Ichigo already appeared mindlessly fucked-out from the mere anticipation of pleasing Ishida: hands laced behind his head, eyes blown, mouth slack, and hair more of a mess than usual thanks to the turbulent air. Ichigo was so easy for him. It was dizzying to have such power over a man whose phenomenal strength could save or destroy whole worlds. Ishida pounced and tore at the sashes holding Ichigo’s clothing, flung the kosode open to expose his chest, then yanked the hakama down to mid-thigh. In record time, Ichigo’s leaking cockhead was in his mouth.
“Oh, fuck, Uryuu!” Ichigo arched dramatically, driving his lower body firmly into the rooftop so he wouldn't buck wildly. “Warn a guy!”
Ishida hummed in reply, causing another curse to be thrown his way. He lifted off enough to place a kiss on the tip, then wrapped his left hand around Ichigo’s shaft and rolled the foreskin down, tongue trailing after it to lick around the freed ridge. Ichigo reached to comb through his hair firmly, trying to hold his bangs out of the way. It was a sweet move that kept Ishida’s hair clean, though it was mostly done so Ichigo could have an unobscured view. Ishida gratefully tilted his head into the touch anyway.
“You're so fucking hot,” Ichigo whined, watching greedily. Ishida pumped him, twisting his wrist, while he alternately sucked on the head and made a show of licking beads of precum away with the flat of his tongue. “That’s it, Uryuu. You taste how eager I am to fill you up?”
The words made Ishida pull off with a pop to pant for breath, a trail of precum and saliva connecting from his tongue to Ichigo’s slit. The setting sun had been replaced by a full moon, allowing Ichigo to notice how the light glinted off the strand. Safe to do so, his hips jumped uninhibited towards Ishida’s mouth.
“Uryuu,” Ichigo sighed, cupping Ishida’s cheek and breaking the thin line with a swipe of his thumb over wet lips. “Get up here. At least swing your ass this way so I can lick you open.”
It was a tempting offer, no matter where they were, seeing how Ichigo tended to eat him out like a favorite meal. Ishida kissed Ichigo’s thumb and pulled the gentle touch away. That's all the warning he gave before he dove back down, opening his throat to take all of that delicious length to the base.
“URY—NNGH! Ohhh!” Ichigo couldn't help when his hips jumped that time, but it didn't matter. He couldn’t shove any further in. Ishida’s nose was firmly nuzzled into his trimmed orange hairs. He cradled Ishida’s head, shakily stroking the soft, sleek hair. “You,” he swallowed thickly. “You’ve gotten way too good at that!”
High off the praise, Ishida retreated halfway, breathed, then swallowed him down again. Better prepared for it, Ichigo moaned encouragingly. Ishida continued the same movements, increasing the pace. His hands, unneeded in his task, ran along Ichigo’s uncovered skin. They groped the muscled thighs and moved up the insides, where they were ticklish. If Ishida's mouth weren't so busy, he’d be biting into the tempting flesh and raising Ichigo’s voice an octave. He ended at Ichigo’s heavy sack and rolled it in his palm.
“Uryuu, please get up here!” Ichigo begged, and loosely fisted the dark strands in his grasp as his whole body jerked. “If-If you don't stop soon, I’m gonna…”
Ishida bobbed faster, wanting the hinted outcome. Ichigo’s cock slid into his wide-open throat over and over, making him lightheaded. Under him, Ichigo’s partially constrained legs tried to lift protectively towards his body in a last-ditch effort to delay orgasm. He thumbed over the sack that had become wet with his drool, feeling it draw up tighter in his palm. Making Ichigo fall apart was an addiction. It didn’t matter whether it was with his mouth, hand, or ass. Or his thighs, the one night early in the relationship when his sore hole wasn't up for another round. Ichigo had come undone the same way he did when crammed deep inside. There wasn't a single part of Ishida’s body that couldn't drive Ichigo crazy.
The hips below Ishida’s face started to cant upwards with less control, meeting him halfway on his descent. His scalp was mindlessly scratched, and his hair just pleasantly pulled as Ichigo lost control. He devoured Ichigo’s cock like a man possessed. As if all his Quincy pride hinged on getting Ichigo to release hot and thick into his belly. The rough moans and grunts Ichigo let out in a continuous stream were a good indication that Ishida’s pride would remain intact.
For Ichigo, the world narrowed to just his dick and Ishida’s mouth; the feel of Ishida’s lips stretched wide to take him, eager tongue massaging the underside, and the throbbing tip being constricted by Ishida’s tight throat. His ears attuned to the suckling, guttural sounds it all produced as his cock plunged in. Vaguely, he recalled that he’d intended to make love to Ishida, but it seemed his boyfriend had other ideas. He looked down at Ishida's flushed face with those beautiful eyes screwed shut behind fogged-up lenses. Years ago, before he realized what this was, Ichigo had decided he’d give the Quincy anything he asked for. So, if this was what Ishida wanted, then this is what Ichigo wanted, too.
He tapped Ishida's head in warning, and Ishida immediately came up to worship the tip while wetly jacking his shaft. Ichigo came with a loud shout mixed with praise his heart couldn’t contain. “U-Uryuu! Uhn! So good. Ev’rything—I’d give—Fuck, y’make me come so much! Love–-I love—!”
Each pulse coated Ishida’s tongue in the familiar taste of Ichigo’s pleasure, and he swallowed. And swallowed. And swallowed. His body tingled, electrified with pride and his own arousal. Some of the effect might also have been due to his need for a lungful of air. At last, when no more could be milked out, and Ichigo shuddered with a hiss, he let the softening length fall from his swollen lips. If they were cozy in bed and not stories above the town, Ishida would see how far he could push Ichigo by keeping the sensitive cock in his mouth until it recovered and thickened for more.
As he wiped his glasses clear with a lens cloth from his pocket, he smugly watched Ichigo’s heaving form sprawled on the roof. They should get out of here when his boyfriend could move; Ishida was so hard it hurt. He used his sleeve to dry his mouth and chin. A shower at some point in the evening would be pleasant.
“You’re dangerous,” Ichigo panted. “An incubus sent here to wring me dry.”
With glasses securely on his nose, Ishida scoffed then winced, rubbing his neck. When he spoke, he was unsurprised to sound like he smoked more packs a day than Ryuuken. “Says the guy who wanted me to ride him up here.”
“I still want that.” Ichigo groaned as he sat up, stretching kinks out of his muscles with a smirk. “C’mere.” Ishida stared appreciatively at his exposed chest without making any move to act on the prompt. “What? You need to come, right?”
“I can come in the privacy of my home, Ichigo.”
“So, what? I can get my ass exposed out here, but you can't?”
“It suits you more,” Ishida bantered, moving to get up. Before he knew it, he was grabbed and manhandled to lie sideways across Ichigo’s cross-legged lap, with his neck propped on Ichigo’s left forearm and his legs spread out. He hadn't clocked any movement whatsoever. “Wha-? Did you just use a Shinigami flash technique on me?!”
Ichigo grinned wickedly down at him while his pants were being undone with one skillful hand. “Would I do that to you?”
That was sexy. Ichigo’s speed was always stupidly sexy. Ishida would die before he’d let him know it. “Stop that! You can tease me at home.” His house might as well be Ichigo’s after they’d gotten together post-Yhwha’s defeat. The Shinigami-Quincy hybrid became quite clingy. They both had; Ishida simply hid it better.
“I’m not teasing you,” Ichigo assured, swiftly wetting his middle finger in his mouth then shoving his hand into Ishida’s underwear to prove it.
Ishida jolted and grabbed Ichigo’s wrist with a gasp. Ichigo didn't stop for more than a light grope of Ishida’s aching dick before moving lower to aim for his twitching entrance. He sighed and watched Ichigo’s expression, waiting for it to change.
There it was. Wide brown eyes locked onto blue ones, dilating more in the artificial lighting of the town that reached them at this height. Ichigo’s mouth opened in surprise, then quickly closed as he heatedly bit into his lower lip. His finger slid fully inside the slick warmth of Ishida’s body without resistance.
“Uryuu. When did you prepare yourself for me?” The question was purred.
Stubborn defiance came over Ishida at having to tolerate Ichigo being so pleased with himself. “Who says I prepared myself for you? Maybe you’re not enough for this incubus, and I needed another guy to rail me before meeting you here.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Or the right one, if his goal was to awaken the more feral side of his boyfriend. Ichigo’s eyes flashed gold, and his ring finger plunged in to join the other, curling over Ishida’s prostate. He watched Ishida’s head fall backwards over his arm. “That's not funny, Uryuu.”
The half-playful, growled threat made Ishida’s insides melt.
“Do you think I’d allow that? Allow someone else to touch you?” His fingers kept rocking in and out of Ishida, movements mildly restricted by the pants and underwear the Quincy still wore. Ichigo didn't care if he’d get chewed out for stretching the clothing later. “If you’re not satisfied, I can always fuck you more.”
They already screwed like crazed rabbits. Ishida wasn't sure more was possible, let alone healthy. Still, he'd play along to keep Ichigo in this mood. There was a hidden possessive streak inside his boyfriend. The darkness might have been there naturally, or born out of fear from all they’d been through, or possibly from the part that wasn't human. There was a thrill in tempting it out, and the results were worth it. Trying his best to look haughty from his submissive position, Ishida snarked, “I’ll take quality over quantity.”
Ichigo’s nostrils flared. The pressure of strong reiatsu compressed the air around them. “What was that?”
“Perhaps…I needed to be fucked better,” Ishida whispered.
With a snarl, Ichigo yanked his fingers out and ripped Ishida’s pants and underwear down his legs. The sounds of seams being torn and elastic snapped were deafening compared to the shocked silence that followed. He was definitely going to be yelled at for that one. Ishida went red in the face as he glared at the ruined trousers, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Ichigo spat on his fingers and drove two back inside before Ishida’s temper could recover. That did the trick, and Ishida’s head dropped again with a high moan.
Any inhibitions Ishida had about being exposed up here were gone. His knees automatically bent and spread to give Ichigo more room to finger him the way he liked. It was fast and rough—ruthless. The practiced digits massaged over his gland mercilessly. Ishida’s right hand scrambled for a hold on Ichigo’s open kosode while the other clawed wildly at Ichigo’s vibrating forearm. He barely acknowledged that he was leaving behind raised welts that Ichigo would wear with pride. No matter where or how Ishida marked him, Ichigo tried to show it off like a trophy.
“I know you're lying, Uryuu,” Ichigo leaned closer to speak in a husky tone. Ishida gasped, lifting his head for a kiss that Ichigo denied with an impish smile. “I know I fuck your brains out, and you love it. The way you scream—”
Ishida cried out, bearing down on his fingers, then immediately tried to retreat as if the stimulation was too much.
“The way your whole body shakes. The way you drool for it.”
“I-Ichigo!” Ishida whimpered, legs kicking out as his building orgasm started to teeter on a knife’s edge. The unrelenting pleasure almost hurt. His fingernails dug into flesh harder. “Ichigo! Ichi-go!”
“Nobody else can do this to the high-and-mighty Ishida Uryuu, can they?” Ichigo grinned widely, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, when Ishida answered by jerkily shaking his head ‘no’. “Do you think anybody else can make you come without touching your pretty cock?” Ishida’s length jumped where it lay on his stomach as if to make a point, leaking more precum in a small puddle.
The onslaught slowed a moment, enough to add Ichigo’s forefinger to the stretch. Suddenly, Ishida couldn't remember why he hadn’t allowed Ichigo’s massive dick to split him open up here.
“Tell me,” Ichigo demanded with a hint of desperation, fingers crooking and petting as they plunged in. Ishida’s whole body was taut as a bow. “Tell me only I can make you feel this good, Uryuu!”
Ishida needed a couple of tries to get the words out, ecstasy short-circuiting his brain. He then let loose a stream of consciousness in the need to soothe his boyfriend and fix what he’d done. “Good! You’re so good. I lov—AH! LOVE YOU! On-ly you! Only you make me come. Ohh, Ichigo! Mm-make me come! Please!”
With a hitched cry, Ichigo surged to kiss Ishida passionately, biting at his still swollen mouth. His tongue darted inside, seeking to claim all it could reach. He buried himself inside Ishida’s hole to the knuckles a final time and erratically jerked his arm as fast as he could, sending direct vibrations over Ishida’s prostate.
“Aaaah!” Ishida broke the kiss with a thrash of his head. He wondered if another flash technique was being used on him, with the speed at which his insides were jostled. He squirmed, sobbing and moaning as his eyes rolled back. Both of his hands now held the sides of Ichigo’s kosode in a death grip, and his overwhelmed body started to quiver. Saliva trickled from the corner of his open mouth.
He fell off that knife’s edge, the phantom pain vanishing into pure, hot nirvana he never wanted to come down from. Cum striped over his stomach, staining his shirt. One shot went so far as to hit the underside of his chin. Ichigo’s fingers had halted all movement, waiting for Ishida’s walls to stop squeezing them.
Thoroughly spent, Ishida slackened, boneless in his boyfriend’s lap. His eyelashes wetly fluttered as he gazed up, catching the worshipful expression Ichigo was watching him with. Slowly, Ichigo bent over to lick his chin clean with a hum, then continued licking upwards until the tongue could slip between his lips. As they kissed, three fingers were carefully pulled free and wiped on Ichigo’s clothes before he wrapped the whole arm around Ishida’s torso, holding tight. Ishida reciprocated, anchoring to Ichigo physically and emotionally.
Their mouths separated, breathless. Ichigo nuzzled Ishida’s nose and cheekbone, and murmured, “I’m not letting you go. Not for anybody. You hear me, Uryuu?”
Ishida’s eyes snapped open when Ichigo’s voice broke. His boyfriend’s prior look of aroused confidence at their game had twisted into a worried and pained expression. He might have gone overboard with his act. Ishida cupped Ichigo’s face and spoke earnestly. “There's no one else. I promise. I was messing around and assumed you’d get that.”
“I did. I do, but—” Ichigo pinched his eyes shut, face twisting like he was fighting unpleasant thoughts. “Uryuu…”
“I’m here.”
“Uryuu. Don't leave me again. I swear, I’ll do anything.” The waver in Ichigo’s voice stabbed Ishida clean through the heart. “I will fight for you, but it hurt so much last time and I…” A spasm of anxious, staccato breaths made him trail off.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Ishida softly urged. He sat up, slightly twisting his torso to embrace him. Ichigo returned the hug, still trying to calm down. “Shh, it's okay. I’m here, dummy.”
The guilt weighed on Ishida, recognizing he was heavily responsible for Ichigo’s fears. He’d done what he had to in the war, both for revenge and to keep his friends as safe as he could. The huge flaw in his plan was not accounting for Ichigo’s attachment to him. He’d somehow blinded himself to it and failed to read Ichigo’s feelings correctly. All these years, he assumed he was the disposable acquaintance in their group when, in actuality, he was Ichigo’s lifeline and guiding star. If Ichigo were a compass, he would invariably point toward Ishida.
When they’d arrived home in victory, Ichigo followed him everywhere like a lost puppy. Well—it being Ichigo—more like a temperamental stray cat. At first, it was tolerable, and understandable considering prior events. After a month, it had annoyingly felt like he was a presumed traitor being spied upon. Ichigo could find him anywhere at any time—if he was suppressing his reiatsu or not—leading Ishida to blow up one day and demand an explanation. Ichigo sheepishly admitted that he’d tied some strands of their reiraku together so he could always follow it. Completely stunned, Ishida hadn't known how to react to that, so he’d silently walked away.
The decision of what to do came days later when Orihime called to confide in Ishida that she planned to confess her feelings to Ichigo that afternoon. Ishida wasn't proud of what he’d done, but he didn't regret it either. He couldn't let her make that move. Ichigo was beyond vulnerable; he ached for stability that another person could provide after the emotional and physical gamut he’d endured. Especially after Ishida had coldly rejected Ichigo’s intimate gesture. Orihime would have unwittingly swept right in and gotten Ichigo to latch onto her instead. After all, she was constantly right behind him, misguidedly waiting for him to be her heroic prince in a grand romance. It’d be easy for him to realize her steady, harmful devotion.
No, Ishida couldn't have allowed that farce. He was the one who deserved Kurosaki Ichigo. Ichigo wasn't his prince or ideal hero. Ichigo was his other half. A man like him, who was flawed, who’d survived personal tragedy and pain and had risen above it. They’d helped each other do that.
Ishida had then run to Ichigo’s home before Orihime was due. Moving on autopilot, he’d shut Ichigo’s door as soon as he was inside the bedroom and thrown himself at the surprised man. He confessed first. He kissed Ichigo first. He had been the one to coax an enthusiastic Ichigo to lie over him on the small bed as they sloppily made out—and seductively undulated his hips. Any hesitation from Ichigo, mumbling with a spreading flush about his family being home, was silenced when Ishida curled a leg over his hip and used the hold to rub them together.
That's how Orihime found them. In his defense, he hadn't planned on that. He’d meant for Ichigo to open the door after she knocked, and for her to see them both panting and disheveled, trying unsuccessfully to hide the tents in their pants. That was all Ishida probably needed to get the message across to her.
Only, in her preoccupied excitement, poor Orihime hadn't stopped to knock. She’d opened the door, rosy cheeked, a shy greeting dying before it got past her lips. Ichigo was too enthralled to notice her, moaning Ishida’s name and dry-humping him as any horny teenager would. Ishida had pretended he was helplessly lost in pleasure as well, exaggerating an arch and a gasp that Ichigo’s frenzied movements naturally caused. Orihime ran down the stairs with a squeak, and when Ichigo startled at the sound, Ishida had lied and assured him it was Kon.
She didn't speak to Ishida again—not out of anger, but of grief. He knew he was a horrible person for hurting her that way to secure what he wanted. Last he heard, she was fine, or at least made a show of it. Her infatuation would fade eventually, and she’d find someone with whom she didn't have to come in second place. The fact was that Ishida needed Ichigo, and Ichigo needed him. It was plain as day. Fate. They’d spend the rest of their days profoundly entwined. When one eventually fell, so would the other.
“Uryuu,” Ichigo repeated a whine into Ishida’s shoulder. “Uryuu.”
“Sorry. Sorry, I’m here. You have me.” Ishida shushed, stroking Ichigo’s hair. “It’s my fault; I went too far. I only prepared myself as a surprise for later.”
“Don’t go. You have to stay with me.”
“I won't go anywhere. You tied our spirits together, Ichigo. Nobody can love me like you do.”
Ichigo nodded, burying impossibly closer as if he could crawl inside Ishida’s skin. “Nobody. Love you so much. Love you, love you,” Ichigo repeated like a chant. “My Uryuu,” a deeper part of him growled, tightening his embrace.
Ishida agreed, kissing his tense jaw, “All yours. I love being yours. I never wanted to hurt you.”
A contented sigh left Ichigo’s lips as the beast inside started to settle. “Let's go home? I’ll cook for us, then I can finish making love to you after?”
“I’ll cook.” Ishida loosened his arms from Ichigo’s neck and leaned back to glare at him. Now that the distress was over, there was another pressing issue. “You are going to sit at the sewing machine until my pants are mended.”
The words took a moment to hit Ichigo, blinking dumbly. Then he winced and stared down at Ishida’s milky legs surrounded by the tatters of fabric. “Oh shit! I totally—Wait, how? I don’t know how to use that stupid thing!”
“Which is why you’re going to learn how much work goes into making my clothes!”
“I’ll fuckin buy you new ones! You won’t wear these after my terrible repair job anyway!”
“It’s the principle of the matter!”
“Tsk! You said it was your fault, remember? I wouldn’t have even touched your pants if you’d just dropped your tight ass on me!”
With an annoyed grunt, Ishida went to climb off Ichigo’s lap, but was held fast.
“Wait!” A fleeting look of fear passed over Ichigo’s face before the wind rushed by to swipe it away. “My bad, alright? I’ll try, but…let’s cook together. Then you can sit with me so I don’t sew my fingers into your pants. Deal?” Ichigo cleared his throat, uncertain if the compromise would be accepted. The thought of being apart in the massive house made anxiety build anew. He began to pull off his kosode to drape it over Ishida’s lap: a shield from the cool air on the quick trip home.
Ishida smiled fondly and kissed his forehead. “Deal.”
The sewing machine would sit forgotten that night. The couple fell asleep on the couch after the satisfying meal, in a tight tangle of limbs that kept the nightmares at bay. They might have been shattered, and the pieces put back together wrong, but they were happy. No one would dare separate them again.
Fin